Carpe Diem
by rslhilson
Summary: House uncovers buried secrets in Wilson's - AKA Neil Perry's - past. House/DPS crossover with House/Wilson est. and references to Neil/Todd - see author's note for details.
1. Chapter 1

_Carpe Diem_

_Chapter 1_

**Author's Note: **This is a 2-chapter crossover that's been in my head for a while (special thanks to an LJ post by pisces317 for finally motivating me to start writing it!). Slightly AU in that Neil Perry's suicide attempt in _Dead Poet's Society _is unsuccessful, and he grows up to be the James Wilson we know on _House_. I know that some discrepancies are impossible to get around, like the time difference between the two settings, but otherwise I tried my best to work everything into canon as much as I could (minus the pairings: established House/Wilson with references to Neil/Todd). Hopefully it makes some sort of sense. x]

* * *

><p>The book lands with a <em>thud<em> on Wilson's desk, and he raises his eyes just enough to recognize the gold lettering emblazoned on the smooth crimson surface. He's barely aware of House plunking down into the seat across from him, too overcome with choruses of _"Travesty, horror, decadence, excrement!"_ ringing in his ears as the words WELTON ACADEMY burn into his eyes.

"Talk," House commands from his throne, but it sounds more like a barbaric yawp to Wilson.

He takes in a deep breath through his nose, trying to calculate the odds that perhaps House hasn't actually looked inside the yearbook yet. House, however, seems to sense this small glimmer of hope, and quickly snuffs it out.

"I think I have a right to know who I'm fucking every night, Wilson," he says. "Or should I say, _Neil Perry_?" He snatches the book back before Wilson can grab it, and now Wilson vaguely wonders if he'll begin to dance around the room, limping over the furniture as he reads it aloud.

But instead, House simply gives him another chance. "Talk," he repeats.

"How did you even find this?" Wilson tries to keep his tone steady – angry, even – but the slight quiver on the _how_ gives him away.

His second chance is up. "Neil Perry," House reads calmly, opening the yearbook to a dog-eared page. "Inspirational quote of choice: _Carpe Diem_. Hand-written addition: _Dead Poets Society._"

He turns the book so that Wilson can see the photo. His old name is plastered above his smiling teenage portrait, accompanied by "Carpe Diem" typed underneath and "Dead Poets Society" scrawled in blue in the corner.

"You got a twin you never told me about?" House asks.

"High school was a long time ago," Wilson replies feebly. "Your past is just as secretive as mine, if not more."

House rolls his eyes. "I may not like to whine about my daddy issues, but I never lied about my _name_," he argues, and Wilson pinches the bridge of his nose as House continues his annoyed tirade. "What the hell am I supposed to call you now? Wilson-Perry? I'll have to remember that the next time I scream your name during sex…which, quite frankly, isn't going to be anytime soon, unless you tell me what the hell's going on."

"I changed my name after high school," Wilson mutters. "Doesn't mean I'm any different than the guy you know now."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you change your name?"

Wilson purses his lips. He may as well be evasive for as long as he possibly can. "You went through my closet. You must have."

"I was out of socks. Figured I'd borrow a pair of yours, and _then _I figured I may as well snoop around while I was there. Lucky I did."

"Lucky for _you._"

House waits, quietly tapping his cane on the floor. It's his own turn to speak now, Wilson knows, because House has said all that he needs to say. Now it's time for Hellton and Keating and _O Captain, my Captain_, and the names of long-lost friends that he hasn't uttered in decades.

"My father," Wilson finally concedes, only a little surprised at the ache in his chest that follows. "He wanted me to be a doctor. I didn't."

House frowns at the simplicity of the story. "That can't possibly be all," he says, and Wilson shrugs.

"Me being a doctor was a big deal for him. Danny was kept hidden from view when he got sick, and I…"

"…you were their only hope," House finishes.

"I hated him for it, so I took my grandfather's name – my mother's father. James Wilson." Letting out a bit of sardonic laugh, Wilson adds with a grimace, "I threw in the E. for good measure. Even tried to convert for real, just to piss him off…my father, I mean."

House blinks, stumped. "You mean, you're not actually Jewish?" he gapes.

"Please don't tell me that's the only you thing you pulled from this story," Wilson winces.

"Just processing, Wilson-Perry." House pauses, peeking into the yearbook again. "Dead Poets Society?"

"Just a club," Wilson replies, and he can almost see House's ears perk at the unintended nostalgia that coats his voice. _I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life._ "We'd sneak out to the woods at night and read poetry."

House raises his eyebrows. "_Just _read poetry?"

"It was completely innocent. All we did was take turns reading poems by dead poets. It was our English teacher's idea, a way to break out of the box we were being stuffed into – carpe diem, and all that."

House eyes him carefully. "Looks like you never broke out."

_To put to rout all that was not life; and not, when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived._

The Dr. Bear that usually assumes a neutral position in Wilson's office now seems to be glaring at him. "I guess not."

"You're an oncologist. You did exactly what daddy told you to do."

"I didn't have a choice."

"What, was he going to kill you if you didn't make him proud?"

"He was going to make me change schools. I nearly…" Wilson pauses, the feeling of the shaky hands taking the gun out of his own still fresh on his skin. "It took a lot out of me to convince him to let me stay."

"What was the bargain?"

"Quit acting and focus on med school."

"Wilson. Perry. You did not just say acting."

Wilson shrugs. "So what?"

"Jesus. _Acting?_"

"Make fun of it all you want, House. It got my English teacher fired."

House taps his cane impatiently. "Explain."

"My father was convinced it was Mr. Keating's fault that I got sidetracked. It was a whole big mess, and one of my friends, Meeks…look, point is, the last time I saw him was as he was leaving for the airport to catch the next flight back to London."

House tosses the yearbook between his hands, thinking again. "That's why you never see your father anymore."

"Well, aren't _you_ good at solving mysteries. What do you care what my relationship with my father is like? You're not exactly one to talk."

"I never am, am I?" House muses. "But that's never stopped me."

"Unfortunately. Are we done now?"

House tosses him the yearbook, much to Wilson's relief, but the oncologist's shoulders slump as House speaks again. "Just one more thing."

Wilson sighs. "Yeah?"

"Who's Todd Anderson, and what happened on the night two years before he confessed his love for you?"

* * *

><p><em>TBC<em>


	2. Chapter 2

_Carpe Diem_

_Chapter 2_

**Warning: **The following (and final) chapter references a DPS character death.

* * *

><p>Wilson stares at House, bleak brown eyes slowly darkening as he realizes what House has discovered. "No."<p>

"It wasn't a 'yes' or 'no' question."

"Off-limits, House. End of discussion."

"'Dear Neil, It's hard to believe that two years ago, something so ugly could have led to something so beautiful,'" House replies evenly, reciting the lines from memory. "'And after all that we've been through, I'd be foolish not to tell you that I – '"

"I said _no_," Wilson interrupts angrily.

House shrugs. "No matter. I gave him a call."

Wilson's heart skips a beat. "That's impossible."

"You're right. Took a few tries, but it's amazing what kind of information people will give you when you tell them you're a doctor, isn't it? Called the school, called his folks…finally found out that he's six feet under. Leukemia."

Wilson doesn't answer. For all the years he's learned to deal with House, struggling between keeping it cool and punching him in the face is suddenly almost too much to handle.

"You're an ass," he finally whispers, gripping the edge of his desk.

"Dead at 21. Must have sucked, him being in love with you and all."

"House, I've told you everything you wanted to know!" Before he even realizes it, Wilson has stood and flung back his chair, its angry collision with his bookcase punctuating the way he towers over the diagnostician. "What is it that you want to hear? That he was the first person I ever loved? That he stopped my suicide attempt, and I'm only alive today because of him? That I pushed him away because I went to college in another country, and then he up and fucking died on me?"

The subsequent silence is welcome, but suffocating; no amount of air that he gulps in seems to help.

"Wilson."

_This is a battle, a war, and the casualties could be your hearts and souls._

He can't breathe.

_Truth like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold._

"Hey. Wilson. Take it easy."

There's a familiar hand on his back, and he doesn't have the energy or will to shake it off. It's only just now that he realizes that House is at his side, staring intently at him as he rubs circles between Wilson's shoulder blades.

"I'm…I'm sorry," he mutters, too weak to protest as House gently leads him to the couch.

"You're a mess," House grumbles affirmatively, his masked concern not lost on Wilson even in his state of disarray.

They sit quietly for a while, Wilson's elbows resting exhaustedly on his knees as he leans forward and focuses on breathing. House patiently keeps his eyes fixated on his lover, waiting.

"I never told him," Wilson says at last. His voice is still soft, but steady once again. "He waited until graduation to tell me that he loved me, and I…I never said it back."

House doesn't move, keeping his voice just as low. "He knew."

"He left me that stupid love note, asked me to meet him after the ceremony…"

"…And you never did."

"I couldn't." Wilson turns his head to face House, his eyes pleading. "I was leaving for McGill the next morning, and I…I just couldn't."

After a moment, House prods him further. "You said that he saved your life," he says cautiously.

Wilson nods, turning away to look at the floor again. "My father was threatening to send me to another school," he murmurs. "I found his gun, but Todd found me first."

"How'd he know?"

A small smile crosses Wilson's face. "The bastard followed me home, and then he climbed in through the window just to take the gun from me."

He grows somber again as he continues. "My dad heard the commotion, came downstairs…in the end, he let me stay at Welton, but he still pushed med school. Between that and getting Mr. Keating fired, I changed my name and ran off to Canada the first chance I could. That stupid porno was the closest I ever got to acting again," he adds, smiling again.

House pauses, considering. "And it took two years for you and this Todd guy to…?"

Wilson shakes his head. "We…experimented. It didn't take long after that for us to get together, but it was so secret that it almost seemed…unreal."

"I _knew _that couldn't have been the first time you pulled that stuff in the bedroom," House smirks.

"I was still out of practice," Wilson retorts, but he allows a small grin in return.

After a moment, House stands to retrieve the yearbook from the desk. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a small, folded piece of paper, and slips it back between the pages.

"I'm sorry he died," he says, holding the book out to Wilson.

Wilson takes it, resting it in his lap. "Well, they say that everything happens for a reason."

"Yeah. Sure. If saying that about kids with brain tumors the size of bowling balls helps you sleep at night."

Wilson ignores House's last comment, instead standing to join him. "I hadn't thought I'd actually go to med school until he died, let alone go into oncology," he replies. "If I hadn't followed that path…if I hadn't gone to any _medical conferences_…"

House smirks in understanding. "Then you wouldn't have met _my _sorry ass."

"You see?" Wilson smiles back. "Sometimes I do think there's some sort of bigger plan out there."

"Uh huh." House takes his hand, gently squeezing it. "I'm sorry," he repeats.

"Me, too." Wilson kisses his cheek. "I'm sorry I lied to you."

House shrugs. "Need I say it?"

"That everybody lies? I think I've got that down." Wilson grabs his jacket and stuffs the yearbook into his briefcase. "You know what Thoreau once said? 'Most men lead lives of quiet desperation.'"

"And I care because…?"

"Todd might've given me a head start, but House – you're the one who really freed me."

House rolls his eyes. "Quit being such a sap, Wilson."

"I'm a sap who loves you. And I want to tell you that every chance I get, not just in a note two years from now." Wilson kisses him again, House's lips eagerly inviting him in. "Wanna get out of here?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

_Carpe diem. Seize the day, boys._

House pauses as Wilson heads for the door. "Wilson. I mean, Wilson-Perry."

Wilson turns, playfully rolling his eyes to indulge him. "Yeah?"

"I love you, too."

_Make your lives extraordinary._

* * *

><p><em>Fin<em>


End file.
